


Lie Back and Think of Mars

by Deifire



Category: Eerie Indiana
Genre: Car Sex, Christmas, Cursed Baked Goods, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Mutually Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deifire/pseuds/Deifire
Summary: This is exactly why Melanie doesn't like coming back to Eerie.





	Lie Back and Think of Mars

**Author's Note:**

> Another universe, another take on the Eerie, Indiana community Sex Pollen Challenge.
> 
> This is the one in which I assigned random numbers to characters, rolled a pairing, and added sex pollen.

This is exactly why Melanie doesn't like coming back to Eerie. 

It's the sort of town where you offer to do one favor for an old friend and wind up stranded on the side of the road with his archnemesis-with-benefits, both of you under the influence of a very powerful curse.

Melanie fans herself as, almost of their own volition, her fingers undo another button on her shirt.

She hears Dash's footsteps and turns to see him walking toward the car. "Did you bury the rest of the fuck-or-die cookies?" she asks when he's close enough to hear.

"Yeah," he growls. "Did you get the car started?" Oh god. Among the thousand other issues Melanie has regarding Marshall's relationship with Dash, there's the whole thing where she's always found the sound of his voice vaguely ridiculous. Now, though, she kind of wants to hear what he would sound like screaming her name over and over again.

Her heart skips a beat and it's like being doused with cold water. 

_Thanks, Devon,_ she thinks. It helps, but only a little.

"No," she snaps. "Obviously, I didn't get the car started. Do you hear it running?" She turns the key and once again, the engine cranks but fails to turn over. She's never had this problem with the Mustang before, and she's beginning to wonder if it's just another effect of the curse.

Dash opens the passenger door and slides in. The suddenly proximity is way too much. Melanie forces open her own door and turns so that she's facing away from him, half out of the car. The cool air helps, but fails to completely soothe her fevered skin.

She tries not to picture turning back toward Dash, climbing over and straddling him and—

Again, her heart skips a beat.

 _You don't want this,_ Devon's voice manifests in her consciousness to remind her.

 _I know,_ she thinks back.

Aloud, she orders, "Get in the back seat."

Dash's eyes grow wide. "What?"

"So you're not so, um, close."

He looks relieved. "Oh. Right. Good idea."

He's easier to talk to once he's back there. He's not close enough to touch and Melanie can use the rearview mirror to look at him. She tries to ignore how delicious she finds the way he's stretched out across the seat. For the first time, Melanie thinks she might just understand Marshall. That she, too, might be willing to overlook a murder attempt or two for a chance to run her fingers through that long, grey hair, and—

 _No!_ Another skipped heartbeat. _You don't want this_

If this curse doesn't wear off soon, Melanie's either going to jump Dash or Devon's going to give her a heart attack.

Without conscious thought, her eyes drift toward Dash's crotch, and yep. He's just as turned on as she is.

She blushes and forces her gaze away.

Of course, he notices. "This isn't my fault, you know!"

"Isn't it?" she asks. "You did eat a free sample from a weird bakery on the outskirts of the Eerie Woods."

"So did you!"

"Yeah, well, weirdness like this isn't my area of expertise!"

"It isn't mine, either," Dash counters. "Not really. I'm not—"

"Mars," Melanie finishes. "Mars would have known better."

"Yeah." Dash buries his face in his hands. "I can't believe this is how I'm going to go. Roofied by a sweet old grandma lady in a frilly pink apron. I mean, what the hell?"

Melanie considers the shop's proprietor and what they'd being doing while she was assembling their cookie order. "She thought we were a couple. And we were arguing. I think this was her way to get us to…not be arguing. I mean, think about if it was you and Marshall…"

"I don't know that we would have noticed," Dash says.

Melanie considers their typical interactions in public and realizes she can easily picture them pulling off to the side of the road, stopping long enough to fuck, and then continuing on their way, still arguing about whatever they were arguing about, oblivious to anything strange having happened. Hell, she can easily picture them continuing the argument _while_ fucking. She undoes another button as she tries very hard not to.

"If we hadn't eaten the samples," Melanie says, slowly, "and if we hadn't read the text on the box lid carefully, those cookies would have gone to Marshall's family. His parents would have eaten the rest of those."

"I don't know that _they_ would have noticed," says Dash. "Assuming they were alone and didn't serve them at the family Christmas party, that is."

"Which they probably would have," says Melanie, suddenly unable to stop picturing the Teller Family Christmas Orgy. "And what if one of them had taken a cookie to work or something before then? And the other one couldn't get to them on time?" To have to sleep with someone else within the hour or die? It's an awful thing to imagine happening to a member of the sweetest couple on earth. Another horrific realization strikes her. "Simon might have eaten one of those," she says. "He's _fifteen_."

Dash's eyes narrow. "We are going back there and we are burning that place to the ground."

Melanie is completely on board with this plan. Once again, she turns the key. Once again, the engine fails to turn over. She pounds her fists on the steering wheel and swears, then gets out and slams the hood down in sheer frustration. She checks her phone again just to spend a bit longer in the cold and away from Dash. It's no different from what it's told her the last thirty or so times. There's no signal out here.

"We're not going to make it, are we?" she says, as she gets back behind the wheel.

"Nope." Dash's reply from the backseat is almost fatalistically calm. "Not unless a miracle happens, and I don't know that either of us has been good enough to deserve a miracle. It's been nice knowing you, Monroe."

 _Devon,_ Melanie thinks frantically, as one hand goes to her heart. _Can you stop this?_

He's the only one here not impacted by the curse. It's that same weird sense of duality they've experienced on the rare occasions Melanie's tried taking a lover Devon isn't fully into. The sense of being two separate entities, only one of whom is caught up in the present moment.

 _No,_ comes Devon's response. _Not without doing the same thing the curse is going to do anyway. And even if I could, would we?_

 _Would we let Dash die?_ is the rest of that thought. Melanie glances again in the rearview to where Dash is sprawled on the backseat, skin glistening with sweat, breath now coming in shallow gasps. 

_No._ No, whatever Dash deserves, Mars doesn't deserve to lose someone so close to him. And neither does Simon.

There's only one right thing to do here.

Melanie unbuttons her shirt the rest of the rest of the way and shrugs it off, then leans over and opens the glove compartment.

"What are you doing?" Dash asks.

"Saving our lives," says Melanie. "Get your clothes off." She rummages through CDs, maps, unpaid parking tickets, and _oh thank god._

Dash practically yelps as she throws the entire strip of condoms at him.

"Yeah, no," he says. "We're not doing this."

"Do you want to live to get revenge on that place or not?" Melanie snaps at him. She can see the indecision in his eyes. "Fine. If we die from this, you get to be the one to explain to Mars that you let it happen."

She can see that in his eyes, too. The realization that, as a paranormal expert, Marshall Teller is fully capable of pulling them back from the beyond to have that conversation. "I don't want—" he begins.

"Me, neither," says Melanie. "So here's what's going to happen: You're going to shut up, lie back and think of Mars, and we're going to get this over with."

For just a second, he looks like he's about to argue. Then he takes off his shirt. 

He's not terrible on the eyes shirtless. His chest is smooth, pale and nearly hairless. Well-muscled, for as thin as he is. He's got a vivid, purple love bite on his left pec that's no doubt Marshall's work. Under normal circumstances, that probably wouldn't be such a turn-on.

"We're going to be safe about it, too," Melanie says. "I'm not going to wind up pregnant with your alien hellspawn or whatever."

He looks both startled and horrified at the thought and Melanie wonders if he's ever been with someone who could get pregnant before. For that matter, has he ever been with _anyone_ besides Mars?

Right now, that's not exactly important. "Do I have to worrying about catching anything from you?" Melanie asks. "Not just the usual stuff, I mean, but anything weird? Anything condoms wouldn't prevent? Are there biological incompatibilities we have to work around?" 

Dash's eyes go wider and his cheeks turn slightly pink. "I…I don't…" He shakes his head, then mumbles, "Teller's fine."

"Okay. Good." Marshall and Dash have been swapping spit and god knows what other bodily fluids for how long now, so that probably means this is going to be okay. Well, as okay as it can get under the circumstances. 

Melanie's still not sure he isn't capable of laying eggs down her throat or something, but she's already decided there's not going to be any kissing.

She gets undressed as quickly as she can, shifting to slide her pants and underwear down and off her hips, then climbs over the seat to join him in the back. Her eyes can't help lingering on his naked body. The scrutiny is just a precautionary measure, really. To make sure there are no tentacles or other weird surprises.

 _Not bad._ Melanie's not sure whether that stray thought or is hers or Devon's, but it's true. He's not bad-looking, really. Dash is someone Melanie might easily be attracted to under different circumstances and assuming she knew nothing about him. It turns out underneath his clothes, Dash does look basically human, save the weird marks on the backs of his hands, which is a relief. Melanie shares an internal smirk with Devon at the realization that they now have a piece of information Marshall's always refused to share. He really does have grey hair everywhere. He's fairly well-endowed, too. His cock is slightly longer than average and thick, but nothing of anywhere near inhuman proportions. Nothing that Melanie won't be able to handle. _Nothing Mars doesn't handle all the time_ , comes an unbidden thought, even as Melanie notes the pattern of the marks on Dash's skin which under scrutiny, reveal more information than she needs to know. From the evidence, Dash has been with Marshall recently. And likes it rough.

Dash smirks outwardly as he watches where her eyes go, but he doesn't share what he's thinking.

"Okay," Melanie says. "We're going to do this and we're going to do it quick and dirty. No talking. Not during and not about it after we're done."

Dash nods and as directed, doesn't speak.

She checks in with Devon one last time just to make sure they're on the same page. _We are going to do this, right?_

 _We have no choice_ , comes Devon's reply. She can feel what he's feeling though and it's the same secret shame mixed with curiosity. He wants to see this through to the end now as much as she does.

The curse they're under eliminates the need for foreplay. Dash rolls on a condom and Melanie straddles his hips. She guides him inside her and lowers herself onto him until he's fully sheathed within her. Then she closes her eyes and begins to move. His hands travel up her body, trailing over her sweat-slick skin, until they reach her breasts. She covers his hands with her own, half-intending to shove them away. Instead, she realizes she's guiding him, showing him the ways she likes to be touched.

He catches on quickly.

She keeps her eyes closed and imagines these are someone else's hands. It helps that Dash is relatively considerate. He's quiet, save for the occasional small gasp or moan she elicits as rides him hard and squeezes herself around him. He lets her set the pace, and his touch is firm yet gentle enough that it's easy to stay caught up in a fantasy of blue eyes, long brown hair, and a smile that still makes her heart melt even after all these years. At some point, Devon's consciousness begins to meld with Melanie's again. He's still not cursed like she is, but he joins her in the moment, no longer outside observing but fully a part of the act they're committing. Fully experiencing Melanie's pleasure.

"You close?" It's not Marshall's voice, but it's too late for that to matter. 

Melanie guides his hand between her legs to help finish her off. "Marshall!" she gasps out as he sends her over the edge.

Dash stiffens beneath her. Then he grabs ahold of her hips and takes over the pace until he comes, too, with a quiet groan. The curse breaks then. Melanie can feel as its hooks tear free from her consciousness and the oppressive lust finally recedes. 

They've survived.

Melanie collapses on top of Dash. For a moment, all she can do is lie there, trying to catch her breath, thankful to be alive and back in control. Dash hugs her to him for a second, then seems to realize what he's doing and takes his hands away.

Melanie pulls herself off of him, not daring to meet his eyes and climbs back into the front seat.

They don't talk as she gets dressed. The windows are fogged and the entire interior smells like sex and leather, which under different circumstances might be nice, but in the present situation, has ruined the whole experience of a new-to-Melanie car forever.

This is exactly the sort of thing Melanie hates about coming back to Eerie.

As she pulls her shirt back over her head, she hears the passenger door open and slam. For a moment, she thinks Dash has left and decided to walk home, but then the door opens again and he gets back into the front passenger seat.

They don't look at each other.

Melanie turns the key one more time. Of course, this time engine fires on the first try.

"Figures," she mutters. Then to Dash, "Thank you. I guess."

"I thought we weren't going to talk about this," he says. "Don't worry about it. It was mutual life-saving decision. Just don't tell anyone."

Melanie pictures trying to explain the situation to Janet or one of her college friends. "Trust me, I won't," she says, "You don't tell anyone either."

"Yeah, that I can't do," Dash replies.

She fixes him with a death glare and he holds up his hands. "I wasn't going to brag about it! Sheesh. I just have to tell you-know-who. Sorry, I don't make the rules about this. He does." He turns away and runs a hand through his mussed grey hair. "Don't worry. I'm the one he's going to be pissed at. Not you."

It figures that Dash and Marshall's relationship would have rules covering this scenario or something like it, but it's more than Melanie would have given Dash credit for that he's actually intending to follow them and take the consequences. "It wasn't your fault," she says.

"Well, it's like you said. I should have known better than to take free samples from a strange bakery without checking for curses. It's way more my fault than yours. I'm the one who lives with weirdness experts."

Melanie gives him a long look. He turns away again to stare out the fog-covered window, his teeth worrying his lower lip. She's seldom seen Dash look remorseful or embarrassed, and never quite this close. "It wasn't your fault," she repeats. "We'll tell him together, okay? We'll have one big, awkward conversation and get it out of the way, and then we'll make a plan for taking down sex cookie grandma."

That last thought seems to make Dash brighten a little. "Whatever," he replies, still not quite looking at her. "Just don't be surprised when it goes exactly like I say it will."

Melanie doesn't think Mars is going to be that unreasonable, but has no idea how that conversation will go. _Sorry I accidentally fucked your alien life partner-slash-archnemesis, Mars,_ she pictures herself saying. _It wasn't his fault. It was the cookies._

An image flashes through her mind of another round of what just happened in the backseat, this time with Marshall between them in more than just name. Again, she's not sure how much of it is her imagination, how much of it is Devon's, and how much is the lingering effects of the curse.

 _Not gonna happen,_ Melanie thinks firmly. 

She turns on the windshield wipers and peels out onto the highway, trying frantically to replace the mental image of the mother of all bad ideas with thoughts of revenge and a bakery in flames.

She speeds the whole way back to Marshall's and doesn't look at Dash once.


End file.
